The Good Old Days
by The Ace of Authors
Summary: It's just after Black Tuesday in New York City, with Piccolo, Goku, and other characters. Piccolo struggles with conscience and matters of the heart, while trying to earn a living in the real, harsh world.
1. Chapter 1

Blood squirted from the prize fighter's mouth as another heavy blow was dealt to his face. The red faced man stumbled backwards, breathing heavily. For the past ten or so minutes, the muscle-bound jack had been swatted around like a novelt item by one of the boss's top fighters. Sweat was literally pouring off his body, making the light shimmer and gleam on his wet figure.

"I think that's enough for today." A deep voice called out, stopping the fight.

Both fighters respectfully backed down at the authoritative command. The smoke of a fresh-lit cigarette loomed towards the ceiling, the projecter lying securely in the corner of the mouth, between the speaker's lips. The man smiled and took out the small but deadly object, tapping the end lightly to relieve it of it's older ashes.

"Shower up and head home. Tomorrow, if you can stand it, we'll train again. And again, until you are ready for the arena. Got it?" He stuck the cigarette back into his mouth, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

The breathless fighters nodded, speaking simultaneously. "Yes sir."

"Then why the hell are you still standing here?" The boss smirked and inclined his head towards the door. "Wash up and see to your families. Life isn't all about fighting."

The sweat-covered men nodded and hustled out of the ring, jogging to the locker room door, leaving the smoking man alone. A moment later a young man showed himself, looking confused.

"Hey... You got a minute?" He ventured, looking towards the slightly taller man, who nodded his head slightly to show he was listening. "I thought... Well, you said... To Johnson and Daily, I mean-"

"You are wondering about that last comment, Goku?" He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it with his shoe, grinding the ashes into the cement floor.

"Well...yeah. Before you told me-"

"That fighting IS life." The man turned and stepped into the light, making his grass green skin apparent. "For these men, it is. But the key is..." He smiled and shook his head. "Don't let them know it." The man strolled up to the ring, where a single light bulb illuminated the area from above. "You see... We ARE these poor bastards' life. WE give them purpose for others. WE give them money. We give them something to... Well, something to live for."

"But Picc... I thought we were getting out."

"Nobody gets out of life, Goku. You know that."

-

Piccolo Damioh wasn't a bad man.

He just knew what people wanted. And in these times, people wanted something that took them away. Something that allowed them to forget where they were... How much money they had... How many problems lay unsolved. Piccolo's job was simple enugh for him:

Give the people something to look forward to.

And look forward they did. Saturday nights at eleven, without fail, there was a fight. Sometimes it was hopeless; people loved seeing the underdog try. Othertimes it was neck-in-neck, winner to be determined in the last round. In any case, Piccolo and other underground fight-holders like him knew that during the Depression, everyone could use something to look forward to.

The man in question grew up around the ring. His father had once been a top fighter. Someone truly to be reckonned with. As a boy, Piccolo had always dreamed of becoming the image of his father. Someone strong, and brave, and loved by all. Of course, he didn't grow up on the upper side of town. The streets and public recreation areas were home. The neighborhood kids were his friends. Street baseball was played, using trashcan lids for bases. His family had enough money to get by. And growing up, he was happy. But, time brings all happy stories to an end.

As young Piccolo turned twelve, his mother got sick with whooping cough. After a couple of weeks, and much worrying, she seemed to return to normal. However, a short time later something red appeared on her hankerchief that made one thing clear: The Damioh familiy's life just got much harder. Doctor bills stacked up, pushing Piccolo's father to fight more. But he was no longer the young man he once was. Things started to slip, gradually. As his mother's condition worsened, Piccolo realized something important. It was far better to be rich and ill.

After three prolonged months, Piccolo's mother was buried in the local cemetery. No fancy gravemarker, no deep thoughts engraved on the stone... Just the name 'Mary Damioh' and the dates of birth and death. Piccolo was crushed, of course. He felt the little bed of roses he planted on his mother's grave was an insult. She deserved better than that. A little world, devoted only to her young son and husband. A world that she had done her very best to make beautiful.

Unfortunately, only money made things really beautiful.

Now, ten years later, Piccolo kicked off his shoes and tossed his apartment key onto the dark coffee table. The large young man went automatically to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a flask of Jack Daniels. He hated it when he remembered the past like that. Reminiscing didn't do him any good. Working like hell day in and night did. Well, it brought money in, anyway. What Piccolo did for a living came from a cut-throat childhood. After the death of his mother, his father was left with the staggering job of paying off the debt acquired in the last months of Mrs. Damioh's life. The father and son moved into a lower-rent apartment, seated in the middle of Hell's Kitchen. There, Piccolo learned life's lessons the hard way. He was no longer surrounded by familiar faces. Instead, dark shadows and leering grins greeted him. He was always on guard walking home from school, after getting jumped by larger boys in the 11th grade. He was his only friend... Until he met Goku Son.

Goku was the only kid that offered friendship. The fact that he did also not have any pals to speak of probably joslsted the decision to confront the lonely Piccolo... But all the same, the boy was glad for companionship. The pair became unseperable. Where ever Piccolo was, Goku was usually a step behind. Unlike Piccolo's situation, Goku's father had walked out, leaving only the mother and son to make ends meet. Mrs. Son ran a small bakery, which made enough money to keep food on the table, and young Goku in school. Both of the young boys never brought up their missings parents. Goku was sad, while Piccolo was ashamed. He believed that if he was just a little bit older, perhaps he could have done something...

But, that was all in the past. The present Piccolo roughly took a sip of the hard whiskey and shut his eyes tightly. He didn't enjoy what he did for a living... But it was just that.

A living.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where is he?" Piccolo asked Goku in agitation, lighting his third cigarette. Goku shrugged and looked at the metal door, which hadn't been opened for the past thirty minutes.

"He'll be here, I think. He seems reliable enough, anyway." Goku was always the optimist, Piccolo thought sourly.

The green man raised a brow and shook his head slightly, making the smoke stir suddenly. "You of all people should know that you can't rely on anyone."

Goku looked into Piccolo's face with a mood of seriousness about him. "I can rely on you, can't I?"

An uncomfortable silence lingered between the two men for some time. Piccolo thought over Son's rare piece of wisdom. Could he himself be counted on? Was he dependable? Piccolo felt uneasy thinking about that notion. Of course he could be trusted! He and Goku had been friends for about a decade now... They had faced the ugliness of life together. Even their parents had grown a type of friendship. It never went any farther than that, though. Piccolo's father was just burnt out, simple as that. And Goku's mother... She had been so broken by Goku's dead-beat father, that she had created a shell around herself. Piccolo, young as he was, had been able to see that Goku was hurt most by this. While she didn't mean to, she ended up shutting herself away from all close relationships... Including the one she had with her son. She was never negligent... Just distant, as if she were always somewhere else... Waiting for something or someone to pull her back to reality. It really was a miracle that Goku grew up to be the cheerful, trusting person that he was. Piccolo suspected that the man didn't want to end up like his mother, and as a result, choose to always look for the good in people, instead of waiting for the bad.

"Hey, here he is! I told you Piccolo, you have to have a little faith sometimes."

Piccolo spat his cigarette out and ground the heel of his foot into it, putting out the smouldering ashes. "About damn time, too." He strode over to where the fighter had just entered and stared at him. He didn't say anything, didn't glare... Just stood there, looking at the tardy man in the eyes.

"I'm...I'm sorry sir. I had to run here from the doctor's-"

"Doctor?" Piccolo asked quietly, bringing a deadly silence to the room. The fighter shifted uncomfortably and looked to the side. Piccolo tipped his hat back with his pointer finger, as if to see the man better. "Why would you need to see one? You are healthy...aren't you?"

The man swallowed hard and nodded deliberately. "Y-yes, Mr. Damioh. I... I only wanted to be sure-"

"You are lying. To be more specific, you are lying to ME. No one has money these days to see the doctor 'just to be sure'. Now, answer the question. Are you, or are you not, healthy?"

It was a well known fact that Piccolo Damioh did not keep sickly men. Ill fighters had to be replaced as soon as possible, because the weakened condition slowed them down. And in the fast paced world of fighting, speed was essential. That was exactly why saying the word 'doctor' around Piccolo meant you were about to lose your slot.

The man seemed to turn this over in his head as he cautiously chose his words. "Well, it wasn't exactly me, sir. I was there..."

The man stumbled over his words, trying to phrase it correctly. Piccolo exhaled audibly from his nostrils, much like an agitated bull. "Would you get to the damn point, already?"

"It's my girlfriend, sir. She's...she's gonna have a baby." The man looked away, red-faced. Piccolo sighed and rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he was born yesterday. He had heard it before, and came as no shock when one of the cocky young men messed around with women and got them knocked all the way up. It was very embarrassing to have to go to the doctor for a pregnancy check-up, when you weren't even married. While Piccolo was still upset that the fighter would obviously be pre-occupied, what with thinking of a child and a possible wedding, that meant that he knew he would need money. And when people needed money badly enough, they would work very hard to get it.

"Well, well. Congratulations." Piccolo said in a level tone, though his voice sounded like he really wanted to console the man. "Perhaps you should take some time off. I mean, it is your future family we're talking about."

The man jumped at Piccolo's little manuever, eagerly gobbling up the opportunity to show his boss what he was capable of.

"I can train. I'll train twice as long and hard, if I have to. I don't need a replacement." Piccolo grinned to himself, but only nodded at the young man.

"Then why the hell are you still in my face? Get changed and hit the combo bag."

The man nodded and ran in retreat to the locker room. Goku looked at Piccolo, smiling.

"You sure like to be scary, don't you buddy?" He asked, making Piccolo chuckle.

"Only as a tool, Goku. Otherwise, I'm a nice guy." He smirked and slapped the back of his friend's head. "Now, we're going to make a call, ok?"

-

She worked as a waitress at a local diner. Nothing fancy, just a little mom and pop joint on the corner of sixty-fifth street, not far from where Goku and Piccolo had grown up. Her hair was long and pitch black, but usually pulled into a bun, with strands of wild hair coming out in small curls. She was slender and well built; her uniform showed that with ease. Her face was always a bit flushed, since she had so many tables to look after. And what little make-up she wore usually rubbed off by the end of the day. But to Goku... she was perfect.

Piccolo could never understand how much one person could love another, without even knowing their name. But Goku, being Goku, did just that.

"Tonight I'm going to ask her."

Piccolo blew a stream of smoke casually as he watched his friend pace back and forth. The day had come to a successful end. The call to Casey Brooks-one of the other local fight holders-had been made, and bets would be able to be placed as soon as the next day. So, when Piccolo suggested grabbing something to eat, Goku had immediately started in on the diner where his mystery love worked.

"So tonight's the big night, huh? You are finally going to pop the question?" Piccolo waited dramatically before adding theatrically, "What's your name?"

Goku smiled and shook his head. "Laugh all you want. I'm telling you, she's the girl for me." He sat down in the chair opposite Piccolo and sighed. "But then again...Maybe she's too good for me. I just know someone so pretty and nice as her has a guy already. I mean..." His face got a dreamy look in it as he smiled and started in again, "She has the face of an angel. Any guy would be crazy to have not asked her out by now."

Piccolo shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. "So? You can still ask her name, can't you? I mean, how often has she seen you there? I'd bet she knows your regular order by heart, doesn't she?"

Goku nodded and grinned. "And she never forgets anything! Right down to putting extra sugar in my iced tea!"

Piccolo raised a brow, seriously wondering what the big deal was. "Look. We're best friends, right? And I want to see you happy. But you are never going to GET that way if you don't be a man and ask what her damn name is!"

Goku scratched his head, as if pondering some difficult situation. "You know... I am! I'm definitely going to ask her tonight! Nothing can stop me!"

Piccolo put out his cigarette in the near-by ashtray and nodded. "Uh huh. Well, I'm going somewhere else, then. I don't want to see you making an ass of yourself." Piccolo grabbed his jacket and threw it on, since November's chill was settling more and more into the Big Apple everyday.

"Bye, Piccolo! I'll tell you about it tomorrow, ok? Oh yeah, I passed George this morning, and he wanted to know if you were up for a hand of cards on Thursday."

Piccolo nodded without real conviction. He could always use the money he won to buy some decent whiskey at the local speakeasy.°

-

The street was pretty still for that hour of night. Piccolo saw the usual street punks only about three times. Far too few. It wasn't that cold of a night, he thought to himself as he approached his apartment building. He stopped short when he noticed two figures leaning against the outside wall, just out of the street lamp's light. He squinted, trying to see the exact forms. One was large and bulky, as if muscles were bursting at the seams of his jacket. The other was much smaller, but somehow Piccolo's senses went off, warning him that the smaller was definitely more dangerous.

"Vegeta." He said in a level tone, stepping forward. "To what pleasure do I owe this visit?"

The smaller figure stepped forward as well, making his features more apparent in the street light. His pitch black hair stood up on end in an odd flame shape, making him easily recognizable. His equally dark eyes glinted under heavy eyebrows. His mouth was pulled into an unkind-looking smirk, making him appear arrogant and hostile.

"Well well, Damioh. I've been wondering where you had gotten off to. Still working with that idiot, Son?"

Piccolo kept calm and reached for a cigarette. "Goku and I are still a team, if that's what you mean. How about you cut the shit and tell me why you're down here?"

Vegeta looked around him and held up his hands. "Down here is right. When are you going to get a real place, Damioh?"

"Not all of us can kiss Daddy's ass and get a check every month."

Vegeta growled and pointed at Piccolo. "You watch your mouth, Damioh. You have no right talking down to me. You are the one who employs Irish and kikes."

Piccolo blew a puff of smoke, smiling. "Well, I guess you know what you're talking about. I mean, your family has been inbreeding for so long there is no chance you yourself could have a little mixed blood."

Vegeta's eyes snapped wildly, making Piccolo smile bigger. However, Vegeta seemed to realize that was what Piccolo wanted, and chuckled to himself.

"Look, I'll get down to the point because I don't expect your thinking capacity can hold out much longer. I came to offer you a chance to get out of the fight."

Piccolo raised a brow and took a quick drag. "What the hell are you talking about? You aren't even in the next-"

Vegeta held up a finger, cutting Piccolo off. "Well, I thought I might get involved. You see, that poor bastard Brooks couldn't refuse my offer to come in..."

"What did you give him to pull out?" Piccolo hissed, feeling his blood warm up.

Vegeta grinned at Piccolo's reaction and shrugged. "Not too much. People these days will take anything. Especially one like that guy. Six kids, can you believe it? Damn potato-eaters breed like animals." Vegeta grinned and shrugged. "What do you say, Damioh?"

Piccolo's mind was working fast, thinking over various variables. "You don't have enough fighters to be splitting up brackets between my district and yours."

"That's another reason I came down here. I wanted you to see what your man was up against, so you would know how smart it would be to pull out."

The larger figure came into the light, nearly blocking it. The man was huge- even bigger than Piccolo. His square jaw was partially covered in a beard and mustache, even though his head was completely shaved. "Meet my newest fighter, Nappa."

'_Damn it.'_ Piccolo thought to himself as he looked the man in the face. '_That is one big son of a bitch.'_ He felt beads of sweat pop up on his temples, but his refused the urge to wipe it away. Instead, he smiled and let his cigarette fall to the ground, digging his heel in the ashes a moment later. "Well, if he's as strong as he is ugly, I'm in trouble."

The man seemed to ponder the statement briefly before growling in rage. "Hey, what did you say to me you lizard?"

Piccolo waved off the man's anger and turned to Vegeta. "Well, not that this wasn't fun or anything... But I better be heading up to bed now. And don't worry about me… I'm in this thing to stay." He patted the shorter man's shoulder before walking calmly up the steps, and entering the complex a moment later.

Piccolo almost collapsed as the weight of the situation hit him. How was he going to fix this one?

He quickly ran to the stairs and bounded up to his apartment, not trusting Vegeta with that goon outside. A little less than a minute later, he reached his floor, panting but not tired. The adrenaline to his brain was pumping so hard he could feel a headache coming on. As soon as he reached his room, he ran to the window and looked through the blinds.

The pair stood there, conversing animatedly. The larger man pointed towards Piccolo's building, looking furious. Vegeta just looked miffed, and must have told Nappa something along the lines of, 'No Damioh, no fight.' Just the same, the green man felt uneasy.

Piccolo went into his bedroom and walked directly to his bed side table, reaching in with a steady hand. His fingers came back up a moment later, holding a medium sized pistol. He didn't like guns, but in his job... Sometimes work was brought home.

He returned to the window and waited, watching the pair argue. After an agonizing minute or two, the duo left, still gesticulating expressively. Piccolo sighed and leaned his forehead against the glass, enjoying the cool feeling on his skin. He swallowed deeply and stood up, returning to his room to put the deadly object away. Words echoed in his head from the day before. The voice belonged to Goku... Of that he was sure.

_'I thought we were getting out...'_

Piccolo closed his eyes tightly and let out a defeated sigh. "I wish we could, pal. I really wish we could."

-

Piccolo had called Goku soon after the incident, relating the problem. Goku was stumped, of course, and no immediate solution presented itself. Goku was worried about Vegeta coming to Piccolo again, despite Piccolo's reassurances, and came over to make sure everything was ok. Piccolo personally felt like he was being treated like a child, and opposed.

"I am not five years old, Goku. I don't need your help-"

"I'll be over in about ten minutes. Put a pot on, ok?"

"No, because you are not-"

_Click_

"Goku?" Piccolo jiggled the receiver before slamming it down in annoyance. "Damn it, I'm more able to take care of myself than he is... I had to save his stupid ass more times than I can count." Still, Piccolo put on a pot of water to boil, so Goku could have a cup of coffee when he came in. "I don't know how he does it…" He mumbled to himself as he took out two mugs from his cabinet.

-

"So…what are we going to do?" Goku asked, putting one spoon full of sugar after another into his already sweet drink. Piccolo shook his head and tapped the end of his cigarette into the ashtray.

"No idea… But would you like some coffee with that sugar?" Goku blinked and looked at his hands, which stopped filling his cup to the brim with the sweet substance. He grinned sheepishly and set the spoon down.

"Sorry. I just…" His smile dropped and he wrung his hands a little. "Well, I'm scared, Piccolo. What are we going to do? Sure, I guy is good-"

"But he isn't good enough." Piccolo said quietly, brooding over the situation. "We really are in trouble." He took the last drag on his cigarette before throwing it in the glass tray. "Maybe it's still not too late. We can… I don't know..."

Goku frowned at seeing his friend so distressed. He knew what a strong person he was… But with a problem like this, anyone could break.

"I have no choice. I'll just have to risk it and bet against our man." Piccolo reached for his packet of cigarettes on the table, which made Goku shake his head. He quickly grabbed the carton before Piccolo's green hand touched it.

"I know you are stressed, but you can't- I mean, betting against your own fighter is-"

"I know, damn it." Piccolo's hand retracted as he looked at all the burnt out cigarette butts in his ashtray. "But what else am I going to do?" He sighed in frustration and tapped the edge of the table, having nothing else to do with his hands. "I mean, are you aware of the money at stake here? Jesus…" Piccolo covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Just thinking about it makes me feel sick."

Goku shrugged and smiled quietly. "Then don't think about it right now. I have a story I can tell to cheer you up!"

Piccolo glared at his friend in disbelief. "How can you even-"

"Just for now, Piccolo. Later you can worry all you want." Goku took a drink of his coffee and began. "Ok, so I went to the diner, right? I was all ready to talk to her, ok, and just when I wanted to place my 'order', ANOTHER waitress comes up!"

"Nah!" Piccolo said with sarcasm, not admitting he was slightly amused.

"Yeah! And it was some other young lady, and she was really pretty too!"

"Wow, lucky you." Piccolo muttered, taking a sip of his own coffee.

"No, not lucky me! I didn't want her to think I was interested in that other girl, just in case she saw us together!"

Piccolo rolled his eyes and spoke very slowly. "Let me get this straight. You didn't want a waitress-whose name you don't even know- to see you getting served-not seduced- by another, good looking waitress?"

Goku thought about it a moment, then nodded vigorously. "Yeah!"

Piccolo couldn't help it. He had to give way and let his lips loosen into a small smile. "Ok, so whatever did you do next?" He asked quietly, his tone obviously calmer. Goku grinned and held up a finger.

"Haha, HERE is where it gets interesting! I went outside, saying I needed some air. I really wanted to wait for her to show up, because I realized that her shift didn't start for a few minutes."

Piccolo's brows raised ever-so-slightly, though he didn't say anything.

"So there I was, waiting outside, when BAM!" He pounded the table to emphasise his point. "I heard it! It was muffled, but I heard it just the same. It was a cry, a woman's cry! I thought someone was in trouble, so I went behind the diner to check it out. And wouldn't you know, there she was! But she wasn't alone, no sir. There was a goon there, trying to take her purse! Just some punk, not too… But when I asked what was going on, and he ran off! She was so grateful for the help, because she was just leaving the diner! She had her check and everything..." Goku took a breath and continued. "Turns out she switched hours or something, so she could be home earlier… Anyway, she recognized me and asked if there was anything she could do to pay me back, and I said, 'Yup! You could tell me your name!' And she just laughed and said Chi Chi…" Goku's eyes held a dreamy sort of look in them as he continued further. "We talked for a while… I don't know how long. Maye an hour? Well, I asked her if she wouldn't mind if I took her out to the pictures or something… And she said she would like that. So, now I have a date next week, can you believe it?"

Piccolo stared dumbly at his friend and grinned. "Nope. You're making it up." He watched in amusement the look of astonishment that crossed Goku's face.

"Nu-uh! It's all true, I swear!"

Piccolo grinned and snatched his cigarettes back. "I believe you. Now I'm interested. Tell me what you guys talked about. Is she a charity girl,° or what?"

Goku's mouth went into an 'O' shape as he looked at his friends. "Shame on you, Piccolo! I'll have you know she is a very nice girl…"

-

After a couple of rounds of cards, Piccolo told Goku he was tired and to go away. Of course Goku knew better, and automatically grabbed an extra blanket out of Piccolo's closet and threw it on the couch. Piccolo pretended to be annoyed, but was really quite glad for the company. Goku knew this, too, and said a cheerful 'goodnight' as Piccolo shut off the light to the living room.

Now Piccolo kicked off his shoes and tossed his shirt onto the bedroom chair. The room was lit only by the small lamp on his desk, which barely cast any light further than the table itself. Tossing his trousers on the stool as well, Piccolo went to the window and look out at the dark street below. The murmur of the city reached his ears only just, since the hour had gotten late. Piccolo leaned his head against the cool glass and sighed. What was he going to do? His insides went cold just thinking of making his fighter face that monster. How was he ever going to fix this?

Piccolo smiled a little as he remembered something his mother had always said to him as a child, when he was sad about her decreasing health.

'_Let Tomorrow worry about itself. You have enough to deal with today.' _

She never allowed him to talk about the what ifs and the what could happens. Just taking things as they came, one step at a time.

Piccolo walked to his bed and was about to turn off his bed-side lamp when he heard something. It was in the next room, but he was sure it was a voice. He quietly slinked to the door and put his ear against it, listening hard. There it was again! He opened the door just a crack and heard a subdued voice (Goku, he realized) talking. Piccolo stood there in shock, listening to something he hadn't heard in years:

Prayers.

"-and thank You for giving me all that I need. Please help Piccolo and me with our new problem, Lord. I know that You always help, but help Piccolo see that. Please let everything be better like the good old days, before Mr.Damioh died."

Piccolo didn't hear anymore after that. He had quietly closed the door behind him and gone to his bed, thinking. Goku still went to Mass every Sunday like when they were kids. He still prayed, didn't eat meat on Fridays… He still _believed_ in being good. Piccolo snorted and got into bed. He envied his friend, in a way. He wish that he, too, could just pretend things were like the good old days.

-

°Speakeasies were places where illegal alcohol could be sold, while Prohibtion was still in swing. There is said to have been as many as 100,000 of these places in NYC alone.

°A charity girl was a very sexually active young lady… In other words, a complete slut.

And yes, I made them Catholic… I did it simply because during the earlier part of the 1900s, most of New York was still Catholic or Jewish, from the immigrants. Don't like it? You're discriminating, get over it.


End file.
